


Three's Company

by ninemoons42



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Chess, Dream Sex, F/F, Guns, M/M, Threesome - F/F/F, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-19
Updated: 2011-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-16 22:35:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dreams may be dangerous but they are also playgrounds full of amazing and very sexy possibilities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three's Company

  
title: Three's Company  
author: [](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**ninemoons42**](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/)  
pairings: Arthur/Eames, Ariadne/Mal  
warnings: Here be sexytiems, and with projections. This fic is not related to the universe of The Other Half.  
The threesome with projections seems to be a meme in the fandom lately; we have [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/kiyala/profile)[**kiyala**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/kiyala/) 's amazing [big bang](http://community.livejournal.com/shannys_corner/98766.html), the absolutely gorgeous [art and text](http://community.livejournal.com/92qp/8492.html) from [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/platina/profile)[**platina**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/platina/) and [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/butterflythread/profile)[**butterflythread**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/butterflythread/) , and then the very sexy fills I read recently on the kink meme. So here is my own contribution to the idea - yeah, I was incepted? This happens to me a lot. Heh.  
Title comes from [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/anatsuno/profile)[**anatsuno**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/anatsuno/).  
disclaimer: I don't own the original stories, series, or characters. Not making any profit, just playing in the sandbox.  
summary: Dreams may be dangerous but they are also playgrounds full of amazing and very sexy possibilities.

  
Ariadne and Mal

"Seriously, Mal, for all your work in dreamspace you've never tried it?"

Mal chuckles and puts down her coffee. "Setting that infuriatingly lovely curiosity of yours aside, Ariadne, should I be suspecting you of ulterior motives? Is it the seven-year itch?"

And Ariadne merely sticks out her tongue. "Perish the thought. Kill it with Arthur's rifle, or Eames's grenade launcher. How could you," she giggles, at last, and Mal pulls her in close when she goes to sit in her lap.

"A woman has to ask," Mal says, and she playfully plants a smacking kiss on Ariadne's cheek.

They finish their breakfast, feeding each other slices of brioche spread with marmalade and honey, and after they've washed the dishes Mal shrugs and says, "All right, come on, let's try this idea of yours. Are you sure you can deal with two of me?"

"Why don't we close our eyes," Ariadne replies, grinning, "and find out."

///

Ariadne smiles when she opens her eyes. The room is a version of Eames's flat in London, where they've stayed a few times for jobs - but there is no bed, and instead she's sitting in a pile of featherlight futons, soft and silky under her fingers. She's wearing an old sweater from when she was in high school, the soft gray already wearing down to white in places. Ink stains on the hem from all her drafting and sketching work.

The first Mal to enter the dream is the real Mal, still in the tank top and jeans from topside; her hair curls soft and loose around around her shoulders, and Ariadne reaches out to tuck her stray curls back behind her ears. Mal's hands meet hers halfway, and they smile at each other, and they're kissing when there's a small cough behind them.

And Ariadne smiles and looks into Mal's eyes, sees the surprise and the spark of interest suddenly there. She knows who her lover's looking at.

Ariadne kisses Mal, her Mal, one more time, and then she turns around and looks her fill at the other Mal, the one who just walked in. Purple cocktail dress, maroon flats, her hair tied back into a short tail.

"Ariadne?" asks the Mal behind her.

"Mal."

"...She's beautiful."

And Ariadne looks over her shoulder and smiles. "Because she's you. Because you're beautiful."

"I seem to have just subsumed the idea, put it somewhere I don't have to think about it. Too used to my own face?" the projection says as she carefully toes off her shoes. The straps on her dress are sliding down her shoulders.

"I'll concede the point," Mal in jeans murmurs.

Ariadne smiles because she now sounds truly interested, and she takes advantage and pulls the projection onto the futons.

When the two Mals are seated side by side Ariadne looks for one long moment, hears her heartbeat thudding erratic in her ears. There is a low curl of heat in her belly; she squeezes her thighs together.

She watches Mal look at herself, at the projection of her, and she takes her hand, placing it atop her denim-clad knee. "We can stop at any time, Mal, if you feel uncomfortable...."

But Mal laughs, finally, and she presses an absent kiss to Ariadne's knuckles, lets her hand go - and reaches out to pull her other self into a kiss. Hands already moving over a familiar form, the straps holding up the cocktail dress are pushed completely aside. Mal is kissing herself with her hands in the projection's hair, the way she kisses Ariadne, but she's careful with the ponytail, keeps it in place.

Ariadne thinks it's the sexiest thing she's ever seen, surpassing even the time when she got Mal to wear a man's suit and a fedora on a job.

///

And, all right, it's strange, but this is herself as Ariadne sees her, and Mal finds it easy to mouth a line of kisses down her double's throat, listen to the sounds she makes. And this is her body, her own body, that's the important thing - she knows its secrets like she knows the lines in her hands, like she knows the weight of her top, and she knows that one finger, pressed - there, into the dip between her shoulderblades - will make her shake apart with need.

///

They're pulling each other to pieces, and Ariadne watches with avid eyes. She's burning up, she's going to burst with love and with want, and she's pulling her shirt off, wriggling out of her panties, and she's trailing her fingers along the zip of the cocktail dress, along the belt loops of the jeans, and it's as if she's sent the other two a signal - the two Mals stop, and share secretive smiles, and they say "Thank you" / "So good of you" and they descend on her, four hands and two mouths moving over her bared skin, and Ariadne laughs, and falls.

///

"Thank you for the dream, Ariadne," Mal murmurs, and unhooks them both from the PASIV before pulling her close, before picking apart the buttons on her shirt, the flies on her shorts. "But it can't hold a candle to you, to the reality and the taste of you."

"Such a flatterer, Mal," Ariadne growls, and rips the straps off Mal's tank tops in her haste.

  
  
Arthur and Eames

To Eames's surprise, the whole thing begins with Arthur.

Arthur is hosting a dream level of Ariadne's design, testing it for a series of refresher exercises for Saito and his top-level execs. It's a fairly complicated labyrinth, the walls in mirrors and glass, light bending everywhere and reflections moving through the confusion.

Eames closes his eyes for a moment, puts his left hand on the wall. He draws a pistol with the other hand, feels himself shifting into game mode, and when he thinks it's safe he opens his eyes, bracing for his doubles all over the place to move with him.

He instantly reaches for the poker chip.

Because Arthur is still there, still guarding Eames's back - but he is also there, talking to a projection who is also him.

Okay, and that's an instant tell, of course Eames is in a dream because there is really only one Arthur in the world.

He knows he's staring, he knows his jaw is hanging. One of the Arthurs smiles, and the other one nods in understanding. The Arthur who is the dreamer for this level is the Arthur wearing the maroon tie and the copper cufflinks - Eames had given him those after the last job. This is the Arthur who is smiling, who suddenly reholsters one of his pistols and pats the projection on the shoulder.

The projection is dressed like Arthur-in-negative; a dark suit, a cream-colored tie. He's carrying a double-barrelled shotgun, strangely enough, and he looks a little younger, a little excited.

It takes Eames an embarrassingly long time to bring his brain back online - long enough that when he blinks again the projection is walking away, with a jaunty salute to the real Arthur, into another area of the labyrinth.

And Arthur, the Arthur with the two pistols, touches the right-hand side of the mirror-walls and throws a challenging smile to Eames over his shoulder, before he turns the corner and he's gone.

///

The first thing Eames does when they wake up is tip Arthur right out of his chair - and he's really not surprised, he's really not, when Arthur opens his eyes, when he takes one look at Eames's face and instantly grins. Lines in his face, the deep and amused crow's feet around his eyes, and the laugh playing around his mouth.

"I take it," Arthur says, "you weren't expecting that."

"I take it all back," Eames says, "I take back everything I ever said about your lack of imagination. Maybe it was still true back when we were doing all those other jobs but right now...."

And Arthur throws back his head and laughs, deep and hearty, and the sound bounces around in Eames's mind, in his heart, and he feels like he wants to hear that laugh forever - that or kiss it right back into Arthur, so he can hear it again, someday.

Arthur is halfway to the kitchen when Eames catches up with him, and he smiles and offers him a drink from his glass of water. "Just give me a few moments," Arthur says, "and we'll go back down, if you want, and you can meet him."

"Thank you," Eames says, "for saving me from making the terribly gauche request myself."

"You might not thank me later."

"Do I really look like I care?"

"...No, Eames, you really don't," and Arthur reels him in for a kiss, and Eames dives in.

///

When Eames opens his eyes again he catches his breath.

Another one of Arthur's dreams. Sunlight and a soft breeze through the windows.

Two Arthurs playing chess on the checkered floor. It looks like the short-haired version is teaching the long-haired version, but in any case, black is winning.

And it's the Arthur playing black who smiles and beckons him over. "Hey, Eames."

"Arthur," he says, and he's beyond being embarrassed at his voice going all croaky and strange. "Introduce me to your...."

"To my self?" And the Arthur playing white scrubs a careless hand through his shoulder-length hair, a messy cloud brushing his shoulders. Pieces falling at random into his eyes. "Not much of a difference, really."

"Except for the obvious, and the chess tactics," Arthur-playing-black chuckles, his hair in its regular slicked-back style. "It took me a long time, and many games against Mal, before I could find better strategies."

"Mal was good," Arthur-playing-white says, a rueful light in his eyes. "Knew her defenses inside and out. How long did it take me to catch on? A year?"

"Still better than anything I could do," Eames offers, "I've never been much for chess. Mahjongg, now, that was something I could sink my teeth into."

"I've never played," both Arthurs say at the same time.

///

How that transitions to Eames watching the two Arthurs kiss, no one has any idea, but Eames is happy. He lazily fists his cock as the two of them curl toward each other, kiss like they're telling each other all their secrets.

Two of Arthur, on their knees, swaying back and forth. Flashes of tongue and their sighs, the soft little sounds, the sunlight playing off their skin.

Eames closes his eyes for a long moment, his arousal building and building in waves, and when he's got himself under control both of them are looking at him and it nearly undoes all of his attempts at control, nearly undoes him completely.

The two Arthurs move in sync, and Eames finds himself with a lapful of the long-haired one - he pushes his hands into the dark tousled mess, shoves his tongue right into his mouth, grins at the sigh that he gets for a reply.

The short-haired Arthur is plastered against Eames's back, rough hands touching everywhere, and Eames gasps when he tweaks his nipples, pinches the sensitive skin.

"Going to make you come so hard - " the short-haired Arthur murmurs.

" - that it's going to hit like a kick," the long-haired Arthur says.

Eames only has enough presence of mind to say, "Don't hold back on my account," and he's lost in them, lost in Arthur.

///

"You mentioned mahjongg deliberately," Arthur laughs, when they wake up, his eyebrows raised. "I know the rules even if I've never played it. You need four players, four winds. Hint hint."

"You know me so well, don't you?" And Eames winks, pulls Arthur into his arms, hands already unbuttoning his shirt. "Come on, it's fair - you showed me yours so I'll show you mine."

"I'll show you, Eames."  



End file.
